


Temporary Quarters

by Blackbird Song (Blackbird_Song)



Category: Star Trek: The Motion Picture
Genre: Angst, Character Development, Character Study, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-09
Updated: 2011-07-09
Packaged: 2017-10-21 06:13:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackbird_Song/pseuds/Blackbird%20Song
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk has never felt at home since the end of the first five-year mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temporary Quarters

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first Star Trek piece I wrote that was fit for the Internet. Many have liked it, so I am posting it here after some tweaking of punctuation and canon terminology. Many thanks to my husband for the beta.
> 
>  **N.B.:** For clarity, I should mention that "Star Trek: The Motion Picture" refers to the first Trek film that was released in 1979, and not to JJ Abrams' film of 2009.

Kirk sat at his table, looking out the window. The bay was beautiful at this time of night. The bay was always beautiful. He had everything, here: Starfleet, water, sky, hills (practically all the old alchemical elements, as Spock had once noted upon researching his captain's chosen city), beauty, city life... He couldn't ask for anything more.

He did, though, as he'd always known he would. Much as he loved San Francisco, with all of its otherworldly gorgeousness, he could never stand to stay in one place for long. He'd learned early in his career that it wasn't any hatred of his home – quite the contrary. He just got bored too easily. _You can whine all you want to about 'no beaches to walk on,'_ he'd told himself more than once, _but you'll never settle anywhere long enough to find them._

He looked down toward Sausalito, letting himself feel the virtual plummet down from his apartment and through the air, imagining the ride his childhood flitter would have given him. He smiled at a memory:

 _"You make an excellent starship commander, but as a taxi driver you leave much to be desired."_

"Yes, Spock, you probably would have felt a bit queasy."

He shook his head. "Now I'm talking to myself." He sighed and applied himself to his work. "Good thing I've got that damned inspection in the morning," he muttered. "At least I'll have something interesting to do." He winced at the lie just as his eye caught the name _Enterprise_ on his view screen. As Starfleet Chief of Operations, he was apprised of every minute detail of staffing aboard every ship, of course. He also was privy to the latest status of warp engine advances, nav-comps, security measures, sonic shower refits and food synthesizer stocking. He ignored as much of this as his duty and conscience would allow, but always took special interest in his ship. His _former_ ship, he reminded himself, as he looked at the message he'd just been sent.

The Enterprise needed a new science officer. Yes, he knew that, already. The screen tracked his pupil down to the relevant information and enlarged it to suit his focal issues.

Ah, yes. Candidates. He had the final four in front of him at last, and his personal choice, though not his favorite, was still on the list, as expected. Sonak would do very well. His qualifications, as Kirk had repeatedly stated to Headquarters, were exemplary. Besides, he'd enjoy working with cool, Vulcan logic again. It had been useful to him before, he told himself, and now there would be no feelings to get in the way. He knew to expect exemplary service during the mission and a clean break afterwards. He wouldn't be looking for friendship. He wouldn't even expect to say goodbye, now.

Except, of course, that it wasn't going to be his place to work with a Vulcan Exec again any time soon. That was to be Will Decker's privilege, according to Starfleet's plan – according to his own choices for the past two years. He sent the requisite message giving his strongest recommendation to Sonak as Science Officer and Exec for the Enterprise, and ordered the viewer off. His voice bounced off the screen at him, and he noted how cold and harsh it sounded. This time, he didn't care. He felt his soul turn to steel as he prepared for his meeting with Nogura in two days. His time as Chief of Ops had been useful to him; the skeletons in various closets had practically thrown themselves at him, and he'd narrowed down what he needed to say to his superior to three minutes. If he could get it down to one, two at the most, he'd be able to keep the whole meeting to three minutes. A year ago, when he could still feel, he would have laughed at the fact that Spock's notorious internal clock had rubbed off on him. Now, he brushed it aside as he calculated his final steps, and what to pack. It would be too bad about Will.

* * *

Pausing for the briefest of seconds in the Captain's quarters to recover some equilibrium after the disasters of the day, Kirk sat heavily in a chair that had been customized to Will Decker's measurements and preferences. He hadn't relished the dressings down by Decker and McCoy, but they had been deserved.

He took most to heart the loss of Sonak and Lori, of course, but didn't excuse himself for his impetuous plan to take over the refitted Enterprise without having boned up on how it actually worked now. He'd been caught with his pants down during the wormhole incident due to his own lazy arrogance. His precipitous moves had cost lives. He'd never handled anything with Lori as well as he should, and now she had died at his hand. If he started to think about it now, it would paralyze him.

Sonak had annoyed him. He'd seemed almost simpering, devoid of the core that he'd come to expect from Sp—from a Vulcan in Starfleet. He'd resented the fact that he was going to have to make do with a pale shadow of the perfection he'd had. Now, he felt guilty for his annoyance. Sonak couldn't help it if he wasn't Spock, and now he was dead. At least, Kirk thought with a perverse pang, Sonak's death was of the body, and accidental. Not the death of soul that Spock had sought and most likely found by fleeing to Gol.

He rubbed his forehead. This wasn't going to get him anywhere. When had he started living in the past? He launched himself out of the ill-fitting chair and propelled himself to the Bridge. The 'thing' was still heading for Earth. He could save lives if he did something about it.

* * *

The catches of breath and half-stammered exclamations on the Bridge as the doors swished open began to annoy him. It wasn't until he felt a familiar prickle at the back of his neck and the bottom of his spine that he started to turn around, and not until he heard that name did he hurry to see the person who'd just come aboard. For the first time in two and a half years, he felt light threaten to enter his being.

One look at the gaunt, severe countenance made his heart wrench to a halt as all his emotional shields went up. Spock had barely turned at his last, insistent, 'Welcome aboard!' As his once and future Science Officer had entered the turbo-lift, he had faced away from the Bridge, and from his Captain. The walls Spock had erected dwarfed those of when they'd first met, and stated firmly that there would be no connection beyond what was necessary for ship's business and the mission they must accomplish.

Kirk tried hard not to die inside any more than he already had.

* * *

It was supremely difficult for Kirk to observe that V'ger's probe exhibited more emotion than his half-human Science-Officer-cum-best-friend. Or was that former best friend? The machine, programmed with the memories of Ilia and such exquisite functionality that its eyes misted over every time it caught sight of Commander Decker, made Kirk wonder if perhaps he might not ask V'ger for such a replica of Spock, once they actually found the entity in question. _Don't forget that Ilia was killed in order to make this probe, Jim,_ he reminded himself. He tried to do it in his own voice, but heard instead a deeper timbre and practically felt a pair of slanted eyebrows lifting quizzically in his mind.

He shook his head. "Sappy sentimentalism never gets you anywhere," he muttered, as he washed his hands. "Haven't you learned that, yet? Besides, would you really want some android making goo-goo eyes at you every time you walked into the room?" He snorted and dried his fingers. "If you did, you'd probably rather it looked more like Ilia than Spock!"

He laughed, but the mirth he'd expected was not there. In its place was a pang of loss that he hadn't allowed himself to feel since he'd buzzed Spock's door two and a half years ago, entering after there'd been no response. He had found the cabin empty, the walls bare and a note telling him that his First Officer had departed to pursue the Kolinahr discipline on Vulcan, and that he'd found their service together to be productive and intellectually fulfilling. He had crumpled the paper at the time, nearly letting it fall from his fingers before recognizing it as the stationery that Amanda had given to Spock the night before ending their eventful journey to Babel.

>   
> _'Write to me,' she said._
> 
>  _'Mother—'_
> 
>  _'I know, I know. It isn't logical to use paper when one can send a message through subspace, but I like something a bit more permanent. That's why I got you this stationery. It's made from the N'Kalpa tree, and it's guaranteed to last through everything but fire for at least five hundred years.'_
> 
>  _'And you would wish for such ephemeral things as my thoughts to be recorded on something of such permanence?'_
> 
>  _'Spock...' She took Spock's face in her hands, not worrying about possible protest from Sarek. (None was forthcoming.) 'Need you ask? Really?'_
> 
>  _'Mother...' Spock ducked his head, then, and Kirk saw the relaxation creep into his friend's back._
> 
>  _'Your thoughts are precious, Spock, even the illogical ones.' Her eyes twinkled, then. 'Those might be worth even more, since they're so rare.' She kissed his head before he could protest._
> 
>  _'My wife—'_
> 
>  _'In a moment, Sarek.'_
> 
>  _Kirk and Spock both held their breath at Amanda's defiance, but Sarek merely sighed slightly and glared._
> 
>  _'Use this paper to write what means the most to you, Spock,' she said, as she looked into her son's eyes. 'I will be honored if ever I receive something from you on it.'_
> 
>  _'I will write, Mother,' Spock said, after a long moment, and then they had parted for the night._

Kirk had felt this same pang when he'd recognized that paper at last, and he'd carefully flattened and saved the note, the last missive he'd ever received from Spock. He hadn't been able to look at it since he'd put it in its box, and it lived now in a drawer in his San Francisco apartment.

He shook his head as he caught sight of himself in the small mirror and looked away. "Damn," he said, and swiped his eyes as he strode out towards the Bridge.

* * *

Kirk had thought that his heart might burst when Spock awoke in Sickbay. Hearing him laugh was unnerving, and he'd wondered if his friend's contact with V'ger had damaged his brain more than Chapel's readings had indicated. But when Spock had squeezed his arm and taken his hand, explaining V'ger's fruitless quest and thereby illuminating his own, Kirk nearly wept in relief. It was only the communication from the Bridge that jolted him into the reality of their situation and made him release Spock's hand from between his own.

Later, when they finally 'met' V'ger, he found himself gravitating to Spock's side, as he had always done in the past. It felt so good to feel the warm presence and the sense of welcome that he had so missed, even though there was so much unresolved between them. He was grateful for the hand on his arm, reminding him that perhaps he really ought to think about getting out of there before the new DeckerIliaV'ger entity consumed everything in its path. He couldn't help stopping several times to look back, even though it nearly cost him his life at one point. He fell on the awkward causeway, trapping his leg for dangerous seconds. Spock came back for him, lifting him with little effort from his position and bustling him along, despite his reluctance to turn away from the spectacle.

"The ship's sensors are recording this, Jim," said Spock. "You won't miss any of it."

All of a sudden, Kirk lost his interest in the birth of the new life form and started to run with Spock, wrapping a reciprocal arm around his back.

* * *

Hours later, as most of the crew slept during the ship's programmed night, Admiral James T. Kirk stood in a quiet partition of the Observation Deck, as close to the stars as he could get. He stared out at the strange visual array produced by the warping of space at great speed, and pondered the incidents of the past three days. On balance, despite the deaths he wondered if he could have prevented, he was glad that there was no risk of a temporal slingshot effect to propel them back in time by that amount, as had happened at Psi 2000. He shivered at the thought, and with the realization that he was chilly and tired. He wished that he could just go to his quarters and turn in, but the maintenance crew were busy changing it around to his specifications, and he wouldn't have access to it for another hour.

"Am I disturbing you?"

Kirk jumped and wheeled around. "Spock! No, not at all. Please..."

Spock moved in, hands clasped behind his back, and halted near the middle of the room.

Kirk's heart sank at the stiffness in Spock's body and his shuttered face. "Have a seat," he suggested, mustering the memory of the ease he'd thought they'd rediscovered.

Spock hesitated, holding himself stiffly.

Kirk sighed and turned back toward the window. He was too tired to deal with a reluctant Vulcan. He found himself thinking of Sonak, who'd been so enthusiastic about his assignment. Not simpering, he now realized, with an onslaught of guilt. He shook his head. None of this would bring Sonak back. Or Lori. Had he ever really cared for her? Could he ever really mourn her loss, as he was Sonak's? The emptiness he found in his answer haunted him. He stood at the very brink of the window, his feet touching the transparent aluminum. How easy it would be, he fantasized, just to step through and expand and dissipate into space. The pain would be nothing to that of the slow death he'd been inflicting on his own soul.

"Jim. I am sorry."

"For what?" Kirk asked, dully.

"For leaving as I did, without discussing it with you."

"Damn right, you're sorry! Putting yourself and the ship at risk like that without so much as a by-your-leave. Consider yourself on report."

Kirk heard the intake of breath at his side.

"I'm kidding, Spock. But consider this your first and only warning. If you ever do that again..."

"Understood, Admiral."

"I really wish you wouldn't call me that," muttered Kirk, still looking straight ahead.

"Very well, Captain."

There was silence.

"Jim, although I should have apologized for that about which you have just reprimanded me, that is not what I meant."

Kirk controlled his breathing, even as his heart pounded. "I know. Spock... Why?"

Spock drew in a long, unsteady breath. "Because I was losing myself," he said, at last.

"You mean you were losing your Vulcan control?" Kirk didn't quite succeed in removing bitterness from his voice.

"That was part of it."

Something in Spock's voice compelled Kirk to look at him. A subtle trembling in his face caught Kirk's eye and clutched at his heart. "Spock... What?"

"I..." Spock swallowed. "I felt the return of certain urges and did not wish to inflict them upon ... anyone."

"Spock..." Without thinking, Kirk reached to touch Spock's arm. "You mean...?"

Spock nodded, eyes still on the stars, hands still behind his back. Kirk could feel the muscles under his fingers clenching for control. "Or so I thought," Spock added, so softly that Kirk wouldn't have heard it if they hadn't been so close.

Kirk turned fully toward Spock. "Tell me." It escaped his lips as an entreaty.

"I felt..." Spock swallowed again, hard.

"What?" Kirk searched Spock's face, still turned toward the stars.

"Such yearning as I had only ever felt in pon farr, or when I was trapped in Sarpeidon's ancient past."

"Yet it was not your time?" Kirk prompted.

"No. But I did not discover that until I'd been examined at Gol."

Kirk looked carefully at Spock's profile, watched as it turned briefly to stone. "I take it that was not pleasant."

"Your perception, as always, is accurate."

Kirk did not allow himself to blush at the compliment. "Care to tell me what you discovered?"

"I—cannot."

Kirk averted his gaze, only to hear a stilted breath that riveted his attention once again. Spock's face had turned ghostly pale and he could no longer control the tremors. "Dammit, Spock!" Kirk grasped his shoulders and turned him, steering him purposefully toward the nearest seat, a couch built for three. "Why aren't you sleeping, as Dr. McCoy ordered?" He settled Spock on the couch and stood over him, glaring in anticipation of a protest.

"Maintenance is refitting my quarters."

"You, too, huh?" Kirk allowed himself a wry smile. "Well, misery loves company."

Spock shivered again, still pale.

"Temperature up seven degrees," Kirk ordered.

"Captain, there is no need—"

"Oh, yes, there is!" Kirk interrupted. "If McCoy finds you like this in my company, he'll kill me, and it'll be slow and painful!"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "That would not be desirable."

"Damn right, it wouldn't! Just be glad I'm not dragging you back to Sickbay right this minute." Kirk looked around. "Where the hell is the heat?"

"Mr. Scott did mention that there was some trouble in certain areas with temperature regulation."

"Oh, that's just lovely," grumbled Kirk. He sat beside Spock and chafed the Vulcan's arms.

"Captain, there really is no need—"

"Spock, the mere fact that you're attempting to tell me this for the second time in thirty seconds assures me that the need is there, and urgent. Now, unless you want to spend the night in Sickbay under the tender ministrations of McCoy and Chapel, I suggest you shut up and cooperate."

"Very well, sir."

Kirk set to the task of warming his Science Officer, biting down hard on the urge to grin like an idiot and say, 'Good boy!' As it was, the increased color in Spock's cheeks was less likely due to his Captain's efforts and more likely a blush of embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Spock. I know you don't like to be touched."

"I understand, Captain. It is colder in other areas of the ship, including my quarters. I regret putting you to such trouble. Perhaps I should make my way to Sickbay, after all."

"This is no trouble for me, Spock. Of course, if you really would prefer Sickbay, it's—"

"I do not," said Spock, emphatically.

Kirk did grin, then. "I thought as much." He allowed himself to pull a little closer to Spock as he continued to try to warm him. "Any better, yet?"

"I believe that—" A faint hum began to suffuse the room. "I believe that the environmental controls are now activated," said Spock, in a more secure tone.

"So they are," agreed Kirk, releasing Spock.

Spock trembled again as Kirk let him go.

Kirk moved closer, holding himself as open as he dared. "Can't you tell me something about what happened? I've—I'd really like to know."

Spock was silent for a long moment. "They were concerned about my loneliness," he said, at last.

"Go on," encouraged Kirk, resisting the urge to touch.

"They said that I was greatly affected by my unbonded state, that my yearnings were not physiological, but emotional, and that I had arrived in time to undertake the Kolinahr if I began immediately. They said that it would be difficult because my human half was asserting itself so strongly. I was greatly shamed, and yet..."

"And yet?" Kirk prompted, softly.

"And yet I couldn't help wondering why there was logic in being ashamed of the way I was born," said Spock, very quietly.

"I can't see any," said Kirk.

Spock turned toward him, at last. "No," he said after holding Kirk's gaze for a while. "You never could." A hint of warmth played about his eyes.

Kirk felt a smile spreading across his face, and that light that had threatened him when Spock first entered the Bridge now seeped in despite his efforts to the contrary. Maybe he didn't mind as much as he'd thought he would.

Spock gathered himself and looked away, again. "Nonetheless, I had always sought to be a true Vulcan, as my family had desired, as I had always thought I desired, and this seemed the only way left to me. It also had the benefit of obviating the need for a bondmate." A flush of green suffused his face.

"I know," said Kirk, quietly, laying a hand on Spock's shoulder. "That's why I didn't follow you to Gol."

Spock turned slowly toward Kirk, again.

"I ... studied it after I got your note. As much as I wanted you back, I couldn't ask you to give up a chance at peace." Kirk held Spock's gaze for as long as he could before he had to swallow at the bitter knot that had built up over the years, now raw and ragged as the wound sustained when he'd entered Spock's quarters that day. He turned away, clasping his hands together between his knees and staring at a point on the floor. "I missed you, Spock. I missed you so goddamned much." His voice broke on the curse.

"Jim..."

Kirk sensed more than saw Spock's hand reaching for him, and moved subtly away from it.

"I missed you, too."

"Spock..." Kirk grasped for control.

"I am sorry, t'hy'la. I never wished to cause you pain."

"I know you didn't," managed Kirk. He looked up. "What did you call me?"

Spock took a moment; one in which Kirk thought he saw him weighing a decision – one involving the mortification playing over his face. "T'hy'la." Spock swallowed. "It means—"

"I know what it means." Kirk paused and looked up at Spock. "I know what it means," he repeated, more softly. "What do _you_ mean by it?"

"I mean it in every sense."

"You mean—"

"Jim... It was you that they saw in my mind at Gol."

"When they examined you ... when you got there?"

"Yes. And when I failed to achieve Kolinahru."

"I thought you came back for V'ger," said Kirk. "I thought that was the presence you felt on Vulcan."

"It was, in part. V'ger's was the loudest voice, but yours was the most persistent presence. V'ger's demands may have given me the impetus to hesitate at Gol, but you—" Spock was overcome by an unexpected and uncontrollable coughing fit.

Kirk soothed his back until it passed.

"You were the one for whom I st-stayed." Spock slumped, felled at last, Kirk thought, by the neurological damage done by V'ger.

Shocked by Spock's revelation, and not at all sure how he felt about it, Kirk failed to react until Spock nearly tipped forward off the couch. "Spock!" He caught the bony shoulders and pulled Spock back, onto the couch and into his arms. "Kirk to Sick—"

"Jim, please ... I do not wish to go to S-Sickbay."

"Spock, you're sick. That's where you belong."

"McCoy released me."

"Was he drunk?"

Spock chuckled against Kirk's side, relinquishing strict control to apparent exhaustion. "I don't think so." He rested his hand on Kirk's chest. "But he did confine me to quarters, where he could monitor my biological state."

"Then how did you escape the bio-monitors?"

"I disabled them."

"Spo-ock!" Kirk gave an exasperated sigh. "What am I going to do with you?" He reached again for the table comp. "Kirk to Maintenance."

"Maintenance. Martin speaking."

"Status report on Mr. Spock's quarters."

"Er, well, we're having a spot of trouble with the fire-pit Mr. Spock required, sir. It's not quite regulation, and it's wreaking havoc with the environmental controls and the fire protection systems."

Kirk could practically hear Martin fidgeting, and got a sinking feeling. "Is there something else, Mr. Martin?"

"Well, sir, I'm afraid that the device is a bit volatile..."

"Out with it, Martin!"

"Well, it's just that it's gone off a few times, as it were, and set off the fire suppression mechanisms. It's a bit of a mess in there, sir."

Kirk rolled his eyes. "Stand by." He turned to Spock, who was now leaning heavily against him. "Mr. Spock?"

"Yes sir?"

"Do you intend to set fire to this ship?"

"Not at this time, Captain."

"Given that you brought an incendiary device aboard the Enterprise, I'm a bit dubious about your response."

"Not incendiary, culturally imperative. As authorized by Starfleet regulation nine-nine-seven-four-six-dash-eight, section—"

"Mr. Martin, override the fire protection and suppression codes in Mr. Spock's quarters and key them to his voice command." Kirk looked at Spock. "And mine." He felt Spock's face nuzzle slightly against his shoulder. "And Dr. McCoy's."

"But Captain—"

"I know, Mr. Martin, Captain's authorization. I'll make it official in the morning. Now, how much longer will it be before the First Officer's quarters are habitable?"

"That depends on when the fire suppressors can be stopped, sir," said Martin, miserably.

"Isn't there anything on this ship that's working properly?" Kirk felt an arm wrap around him and a warmth overtake him. Instinctively, he pulled Spock closer, acknowledging the gesture.

"...sorry that we haven't been able to—"

"It's all right, Martin. It's just been a long day. Are the Captain's quarters affected?"

"Not as such, sir."

"Explain."

"Your quarters are intact, but the shared bathroom is, well, a bit foamy, sir."

Knowing Martin and his penchant for understatement, Kirk estimated the thick glop of fire-smothering foam to be at least waist-high. "Mr. Spock and I will be using guest quarters until the situation is cleared up. Do what you can, Mr. Martin. Shut off that sector of the fire suppression system and issue a Class One fire warning for the affected area. Store the fire-pit in a fireproof hold until Mr. Spock can regulate it properly, and for god's sake, don't use the transporter to do it! That thing's caused enough trouble this trip."

"Aye, sir."

"Chin up, Jules. This, too, shall pass."

"Aye-aye, sir. Thank you, Captain!"

"Kirk out." He turned to his First Officer, now sprawled tightly against him. "Spock, why did you bring that thing aboard? More to the point, how the hell did you get it past the fire controls when it was that unstable?"

"It is attuned to my thoughts. When I came aboard, there was no need for concern. Now..."

"Kirk to Martin!"

"Martin here, sir."

"Belay previous orders. Seal off Spock's quarters and fill with the strongest fire suppressant available. Don't touch the fire-pit!"

"Yes, sir! Right away, sir!"

"Kirk out."

"Jim, it wasn't necessary to take such drastic action. The shrine would never ignite a flame sufficient to harm the ship."

"The fire suppression system would seem to disagree with your assessment, Spock."

"Then the computers should be reprogrammed. I can see to that—"

"Belay that! You're not touching those things until McCoy AND Chapel have cleared you for duty. Am I going to have to put you under guard?"

"No, sir. But I must proceed to whatever quarters are assigned me before I can no longer stand." Spock started to unwrap himself from around his commanding officer, and flushed. "I do apologize for inconveniencing you, Captain. Such display of weakness is most—"

Kirk touched Spock's cheek, stopping his speech in its tracks. "The cause was more than sufficient," he said, gently. His eyes met Spock's to find unshielded regard. "I'm glad you're here," he murmured.

"As am I," said Spock, just as quietly.

* * *

It was a long walk to the VIP suite that turned out to be the only quarters available at such short notice for either of them. When the crew had learned of Kirk's plans to board the Enterprise, Decker had ordered it made ready for the Admiral's use, not understanding that Kirk had already usurped his position. Kirk winced with guilt, now, as he and Spock made their way there. They walked side by side, closer than usual so that Kirk could offer the physical support Spock might need, but not close enough to draw attention. He remembered Decker calling him on his apology, telling him that he wasn't sorry at all. Decker had, of course, been absolutely right. Decker had always been right. As he made his way through the empty corridors, he couldn't help but feel the weight of remorse for what he'd done to Will. He hoped that his protégé had found happiness in his union with V'ger.

"Something is troubling you."

"Hmm? Oh. Yes, I was just thinking of Will Decker."

"Do not grieve, Captain. He found what he was seeking."

"Did he? I can't help wondering if he wouldn't have stayed with us, if I hadn't..."

"Jim. I believe you have reproached yourself enough for your precipitous takeover of the Enterprise. What is done is done, and Captain Decker has attained a fulfillment that might not have been possible, had things not happened the way they did."

Kirk glanced at his companion. "He found the answers you did not?"

"My answers lie elsewhere." Spock seemed to be echoing something from another life.

"Where do they lie, Mr. Spock?"

Spock turned toward his Captain and stopped, swaying for a fraction of a second. "I am not yet certain."

Kirk felt the world threatening to drop from under his feet.

"But I am closer than I have ever been."

Kirk felt something lift, and then he saw his First Officer sway again. "Come on, Spock. Let's get you to bed before McCoy decides to come and tuck you in, personally."

"Your suggested course of action would be infinitely preferable to the alternative," agreed Spock.

Kirk laughed and draped Spock's arm over his shoulders, wrapping his own arm loosely around Spock's back, noting the tensing of every muscle under his arm. "Just two old friends taking a stroll in an empty corridor. Nothing to worry about." Spock relaxed, accepting the help Kirk offered, and before long, they were in the VIP suite.

There was one large bed, a couch that was too short for either of them to use comfortably as another bed, and an assortment of chairs. Kirk grimaced at the configuration, but kept his sigh to himself. "You take the bed, Spock. I'll make friends with the couch."

"Negative, Captain. You are the commanding officer, and as such—"

"And as such, I get to decide where I sleep. Besides, you're taller than me, and you need the sleep more."

"While I cannot dispute your first and second points, I take exception to your third. You have deprived yourself of sleep for the past thirty-eight point two seven hours, your pulse has become somewhat irregular, and your temperature has fallen point nine eight degrees in the last forty-seven minutes."

Kirk rubbed his eyes. "You're right, Spock. I am tired. But I'll be all right on the couch. Besides, you'll need to enter the healing trance, right?"

"That is unwise at this time," said Spock, his speech slightly slurred.

Kirk took Spock's arm and steered him toward the bed. "Why is it unwise?"

"Due to the damage V'ger inflicted, I cannot be sure of coming out of the trance. I also cannot be certain that the trance would be efficacious, since I have been unable to muster control over my physical and mental processes." Spock's cheeks turned a bit greener than normal. "You may have observed that my behavior has become ... somewhat erratic, of late."

"Spock, you're exhausted and injured, and you've been through an experience that would make most men suck their thumbs in a corner for a week or two. I'd say you're entitled to a bit of erratic behavior, as long as it doesn't endanger the ship." Kirk smiled fondly at Spock. "I am worried about the trance, though. Isn't it what you need to heal the damage you mention?"

"I believe so, Captain, though McCoy said that sleep would also help. And I am tired."

"Why don't you make use of the head and the clothing synthesizers, while I try to make things ready in here?"

Spock nodded and moved, somewhat awkwardly, to comply.

Something clutched at Kirk as he watched his friend disappear into the bathroom. It wasn't natural for Spock to have this much trouble, even when he was so tired. Of course, it wasn't an everyday occurrence for Spock to meld with a machine powerful enough to destroy worlds.

Then again, Kirk reminded himself, five years ago, or so, there had been Nomad, and there had been some after-effects that had lasted for a few days. It had been kept off the official record, but Kirk had spotted right away what others hadn't: the hesitations of speech and movement, and the slight tremors that had followed the joining. And then there was the fact that Spock, stubbornly independent and detached as a point of honor, had managed to stick himself to Kirk's side during that time, seeming reluctant to part from him even when they were both headed for sleep. Normally, he could be counted on to remain that close only when Kirk was in trouble and needed his presence.

Spock's behavior tonight had been far more overt than that. Kirk set his jaw in worry, yet there was a tinge of relief that threaded through. Could it be that his revelation about his feelings for Kirk had been colored by his experience with V'ger?

T'hy'la: Friend, brother, lover. Kirk could easily manage and reciprocate the first two, and certainly felt the third sense on a soul-deep level, but a sexual relationship with Spock? There was so much there that just didn't fit. He _enjoyed_ women; loved sinking into their muscled softness, sucking on their breasts, playing with their hair.

Short of a few circle-jerks, he'd never really had any sexual experience with men. Oh, sure, it had been fun to watch the others in the circle. On one memorable occasion, participation had been interactive, and he'd gotten quite a thrill from bringing his neighbor, a second-year cadet named Tommy who was his lab partner in exo-biology, to completion. He'd gotten so hard, in fact, that he'd climaxed almost immediately when Tommy had put his hand on his dick. _We even kissed,_ he remembered with a thrill of excitement that caught him off guard. Of course, the following day, Tommy hadn't been able to meet his gaze in class, and by the following week, they'd each been assigned to different lab partners, by mutual request.

Kirk sighed. For all of his conquests, he'd always counted his love life a miserable failure. He'd never found the one he wanted as a permanent partner. _Well, that's not really true,_ he thought. _Edith. Miramanee. Rayna. Lori?_

His reverie was cut short by Spock's emergence from the head. He was clothed in a short, baggy robe made of violet plasti-fur. Kirk was very glad that he didn't have anything in his mouth at that moment. "That's not your usual style of sleepwear, is it, Mr. Spock?"

Spock glared at him for a moment and slipped into bed, pulling the covers over himself as firmly as he could. "I suggest that you do not make use of the clothing synthesizer at this time, sir."

Kirk couldn't abort the laugh that tumbled out of his mouth. "I think I'll take your advice, my friend. In fact, I think I'll go pick up some clothes from my quarters. I may have something that would come close to fitting you, if you'd like me to include it."

Spock relaxed visibly. "Thank you, Jim."

"Want something from the food synthesizers while I'm there? I have some vegetarian options programmed."

"Thank you, but I am not hungry."

"All right. Back in a minute."

Spock nodded, his eyes drifting closed.

Kirk looked back at him, for a moment, then exited.

He used the time to reflect on the women he'd wanted to marry.

Edith. All these years, and he still couldn't remember her without pain.

How he had loved her! Her intelligence, her sweetness, her idealism, her goodness, her rock-solid center – all had come together to make her the perfect woman for him. That he had been required to watch her deathblow, and then to stop McCoy from saving her, would haunt him to the end of his days.

Spock had stayed close to his side back then, many years and layers of friendship ago. He thought back to that mission, to those hard, hard days, and for the first time, he focused not on the Guardian, or the physics and logical paradoxes of time travel, or even on Edith, but on Spock. Spock who'd stuck to him like a limpet without ever getting in the way. Spock, whose voice had betrayed his care and concern for him, even as he'd had to break the terrible news to his Captain – his friend. Spock, whose steady presence had made those hard, uncertain days waiting for McCoy bearable, despite the knowledge of Edith's impending doom. Spock who had taken his arm at the worst time in his life and shielded him from McCoy's anger. Spock who'd stayed with him on the Enterprise and talked to him through the night, offering solace and friendship, never judging him for his mood or grief. Kirk swallowed around a lump in his throat, both for the bitterness of remembering Edith's end and for the sweetness that both she and Spock had offered him.

He entered his quarters and went straight to his closet. He rummaged through it for his spare uniform, his pajamas, a set of civilian clothes that might almost fit Spock (too narrow for his own frame, he thought ruefully) and a sleeping robe from Vulcan that Amanda had given him when he'd visited her to find out more about where Spock had gone, and why. She'd told him that she'd meant it for Spock when she'd commissioned it, and that he should take it, as the person who'd been closest to her son over the years. As Kolinahru, Spock would have no use for such things.

Kirk looked at the robe now. It was made of the finest Vulcan silk, produced without harm to the moths that made it, and woven of warp and weft from caterpillars fed on different leaves to form the exact color and sheen of the dawn sky over ShiKahr. Worked into the texture of the robe was a le-matya, invisible until the wearer moved, when the sheen of the tapestry would reveal the muscular form as it ran across the plain. Kirk had worn it only once during his visit to Amanda, at her insistence. After that, he had carefully packed it away and carried it with him wherever he'd traveled. He would sooner have gone without the requisite number of uniforms than leave that robe behind.

He packed the clothes in his travel case, and left the room.

Miramanee... He'd never be sure if he would have wanted to be with her, if his situation had been different. She'd been loving, attentive, adventurous, curious and interested in everything. She'd also been an incredible lover, and courageous enough to save his life at the cost of her own. He wondered how she would have done if she'd been born in a different time and place. He wished she hadn't been killed, and always felt a pang for the son who'd died before he could be born.

He'd fought Spock very hard. Now he couldn't quite figure out why. He also couldn't figure out why he'd resented him so for the next several days. Spock had kept out of his way, then. In fact, McCoy had confined Spock to quarters for forty-eight hours of medically required rest. Even after that, the week of sleeplessness that Spock had endured to find Kirk had taken its toll, causing him to absent himself from all extraneous activity. Eventually, Kirk's worry had overcome his resentment, and he'd visited Spock in his quarters. There he'd thanked his friend for rescuing him, and when Spock had lifted his head to look at him, flickers of emotion dancing across his face, Kirk had thanked him again, and meant it.

Rayna. Beautiful, brilliant, kind, logical, naïve Rayna. She'd needed him in a way that the others had not. In the aftermath of his grief over that whirlwind, impossible love, Kirk had compared himself to Flint: a very old and lonely man, and a young and lonely man. Spock had stood over his shoulder, radiating support that Kirk hadn't been able to feel. It was only after he'd fallen asleep that he'd felt a dear presence so near, soothing his grief and making it possible for him to go on. He'd been the one to seek out his friend for several days after that, relishing their communion over one of Flint's undiscovered works or a game of chess. After that, Kirk had always asked Spock to accompany him on shore leave, and Spock had nearly always agreed.

Kirk smiled as he rounded the corner to the VIP suite. Rayna had been so like Spock in some obvious ways. Was that why he'd fallen so quickly for her? Her looks certainly had caught his attention first, but why had he loved her so much, and so quickly? As the door to their makeshift quarters swished open, Kirk realized that all of these women had had something in common with Spock, except for Lori.

Well, she'd actually looked more like him than the other women in his life, he reminded himself, wryly. He'd married her because he was desperate, and because she didn't remind him of Spock in any important way, at all. He could be with her and totally forget Spock. He could be another person, the person he'd always been told he should be: the go-getting star near the top of the Starfleet ladder with the right friends, the right wife, the right life, and the ruthless attitude needed to get him where he was going. But where had that been? Why had he strayed so far from what had made him a man he could be proud of?

He put the travel case down quietly on the couch and started to unpack the clothes, careful not to wake Spock.

In the end, he'd hated what he'd become while he was married to Lori, and decided not to renew the marriage contract when it had expired after a year. He'd broken it off before he could hate her, but not soon enough for them to be close friends – a fact for which he would now have a hard time forgiving himself. Her death was another stark reminder to value those close to him while he could.

Silently, Kirk hung all the clothes but his pajamas in the closet, and padded to the head to relieve himself and change.

It felt good to be in pajamas again, a fact that nearly made him fall asleep as he brushed his teeth. Spock had been right to point out how much sleep he'd missed, and he finished up in the bathroom, made his way to the computer and logged himself off duty for the next thirty-six hours. He'd made too many mistakes, as it was, and it wasn't going to get any better unless he got some sleep. He left instructions for Scotty, Sulu and Uhura to take the con in rotating shifts. They knew the current ship better than he did, and they'd been more careful about sleep.

He checked the duty roster for Spock's status, and found that McCoy had invalided him off duty for seventy-two hours, or until such time as his neurological readings improved. He was also restricted to quarters for twenty-four hours. Kirk took note of that, and sighed. Spock was never an easy patient at the best of times. Then again, neither was he. He smiled at the images, remembered and imagined, of a frustrated McCoy dealing with a stubborn captain and a recalcitrant first officer. _No wonder Bones was so pissed off when I had him drafted!_

Kirk sighed and turned to contemplate the sleeping Vulcan.

Spock looked as he always did in sleep, except for the wisp of violet that crawled up by his ear, reminding Kirk of the clothing synthesizer woes.

He turned back to the computer and typed a note to maintenance, keying it with a certain fiendish glee to the attention of one Julian Martin. Perhaps that would get him back for the Coffee Incident back when Kirk had been a dour fourth-year and Jules had been a mischievous first-year.

He switched off the computer and headed for the couch, taking one last look at Spock as he went. Nothing out of order, except for the wistful nagging of that increasingly tempting bed. He sighed, settled himself on the couch and reached to pull up—nothing. Damn! He'd forgotten to get a blanket from his quarters, and really didn't care to find out what the clothing synthesizer might cough up.

He padded back to the closet and examined his spare uniform: too uncomfortable to sleep in, not configured right to cover him up. He poked around, trying to find a blanket. Nothing. Finally, he took out the sleeping robe. It was warm, soft and perfect for the purpose. He wouldn't wear it, though. He'd simply cover himself. In the morning, he would give it to Spock.

He walked over to the couch and curled himself onto it and under the robe. He was asleep by his second breath.

* * *

Kirk awoke with a start to the swish of the door. "Wha…Spock?" He blinked, bleary-eyed as Spock stood over him, hands clasped behind his back. "I see you managed to find yourself a uniform," he said, eying the ill-fitting tunic and baggy trousers before turning back into his own elbow.

"Captain, request permission to resume active duty."

Kirk rubbed his eyes. "What time is it?"

"It is 0937, precisely."

Kirk bent around to peer at Spock. "Didn't McCoy put you on invalid status for three days?" He swallowed, grimacing at the cottony feel and taste in his mouth. "And what the hell is wrong with the humidity in here? It's dry as a bone."

"I do apologize, Captain. I adjusted the level during the night, though I didn't intend to dry things out to this degree."

Kirk stifled a groan. "Humidity thirty-two percent," he ordered. He turned over and winced, shifting his back with no luck. "Spock, I can't countermand a medical order without sufficient reason, you know that."

"Captain, we are short-handed, and the ship's systems are less than optimal..."

"And so are we, Spock. I took myself off duty for thirty-six hours last night, as well."

"I know, sir. That is why I request to be returned to active duty."

"I think Uhura, Scotty and Sulu can handle just about anything the universe can throw at us for now, don't you?"

Spock met Kirk's gaze evenly. "They are most competent officers. However, I believe you may be operating under a misconception: I do not seek to command, merely to serve the ship to the best of my ability."

"Aha! You're bored!" Kirk grinned up at Spock.

"Yes."

Kirk couldn't suppress his laughter. "Well, Spock, I never thought I'd live to hear you say it!"

Spock's stony disdain dissolved into intrigue as he stared at the robe covering Kirk.

Curious, Kirk looked down to catch the le-matya as it rippled across his torso in time to his laughter.

"You have been to Vulcan."

"You seem awfully sure of that," countered Kirk.

"These are not obtainable anywhere else," said Spock, flatly.

"You're right," said Kirk, at last.

Spock raised an eyebrow.

Kirk sighed and rose. "Wait here, Spock. I'll be right back." He rubbed his forehead as he retreated into the head.

When he returned, Spock was standing exactly where Kirk had left him, gazing at the robe with hooded curiosity. Kirk sat down on the couch again. "I should have remembered a blanket from my quarters last night," he quipped.

Spock's expression informed him that his evasion hadn't worked.

"I followed you."

"When?"

Kirk did not need to look up to know that Spock's eyebrow had climbed at his admission. "The day you left. My superiors weren't too happy."

"Indeed."

"Amanda invited me. I had no idea what the Kolinahr discipline was, and I wanted to say—to see if I could talk you out of it, or join you in it, or something..." He stared ahead at nothing. "When I got to your home, she told me there was nothing I could do. She handed me a book on the subject, but it was in Vulcan and I was impatient. I spent the next two days reading about it. When I left a week later, she gave me this robe. Said she'd commissioned it for you, and that it should go to—that she wanted me to have it, since she couldn't get it to you."

He picked up the robe, handling it as carefully as he always had, and offered it. "Spock, this is for you. I'd meant to give it to you last night, but you were asleep when I got back. I'm sorry I used it as a blanket, but I never used it before, except when Amanda told me to put it on for her. She told me that it was not for anyone but the one for whom it was made."

Spock took the robe slowly, silently, his fingers brushing Kirk's as he did. "It is beautiful."

"Yes, it is."

"Did Mother explain the tradition of these robes?"

"No."

Spock sat quietly on the other end of the couch. "They are given by a mother when she deems that her child has found their life-mate."

Kirk looked up. "Then ... why didn't she give it to you when you were betrothed?"

"Not all betrothals are successful," said Spock, with a tinge of irony.

"No," huffed Kirk on a laugh, "that's quite true." He gathered himself. "But Spock ... why then? Didn't she know you were going to pursue the Kolinahr? Surely that is not the definition of 'life-mate'."

"It is not." Spock drew a breath, opened his mouth a little, and fell silent.

"Tell me."

Spock sighed, with a look that denied that he ever would. "It would seem that Mother believed that I had found my life-mate."

"And presumably that she approved."

"Such vestments are not created without maternal approval. The mother is tested rather rigorously to determine whether or not the effort and expense are warranted."

"Surely it's up to the giver to decide what he or she is willing to spend?"

"Monetarily, that is true. However, the expenditure of time and resources on such things is taken very seriously by the makers."

Kirk looked inquisitively at Spock.

"This garment must meet very specific requirements. It is ... difficult to speak of these matters outside the most intimate of settings."

Kirk noticed a tinge of green suffusing Spock's cheeks. He cocked an eyebrow. "Spock, we're sharing a cabin. We're not exactly strangers."

Spock's right eyebrow all but disappeared into his too-long bangs.

"All right, perhaps not the most intimate of settings. But I am curious. After all, your mother did tell me that— well, that she wanted me to take it." Kirk held Spock's gaze.

"Jim..." Spock paused, and Kirk could see muscles tensing and flexing at his throat.

"It's all right Spock," said Kirk at last.

"Jim ... Mother made an excellent choice."

Kirk cocked his head in a wordless question.

Spock raised an eyebrow in answer.

Kirk smiled deeply at the old connection. "Wanna see if we can use our respective quarters, yet?"

Spock's face fell a millimeter. "Of course, Captain."

"What is it, Spock?"

Spock turned green, again, and cleared his throat. "You will recall that the idlomputt is attuned to my mental state?"

"Ye-e-es?"

"Well, sir—"

"Sir? This must be bad."

Spock's eyebrow rose, slightly.

"Sorry, Spock. Go on."

"If you're sure, Captain..."

"Spock!"

"Yes, sir. Well, I fear that my mental state now is somewhat unsettled. I cannot be certain of my ability to control the device."

Kirk groaned. "Religious and cultural freedom notwithstanding, fire has always been a bad idea aboard ship," he muttered.

"I do apologize, Captain. It was set to my state of being at Gol, and has not been reset since I left."

"Well, it won't hurt to find out from maintenance just how bad—"

"I spoke with Lieutenant Martin earlier, sir."

Kirk sighed and counted quickly to ten. "Well, Spock, since it looks as though you and I will be sharing living space for at least the next few days, let's at least dispense with the formalities. It's Jim, from now on."

"Yes, Jim."

Kirk heaved another sigh as his name was spoken as though it were a rank. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Did you happen to ask Martin about the food synthesizers?"

"Yes. The one in these quarters is not functioning correctly. However, he expects to repair it within one point two five hours. The ones in the rec rooms are working."

Kirk stood up again, and winced, unsure whether to rub his aching head or his stiff back. "Not even coffee in here?"

For answer, Spock rose and ordered coffee from the synthesizer. He returned with a bowl of something most closely resembling gray oatmeal that smelled of raw sewage. "Inadvisable," he intoned.

Kirk grimaced and peered at the bowl. "The pink umbrella's a nice touch."

"Indeed?"

"But the fin is a bit much..."

"Yes."

By unspoken, mutual consent, they headed for the nearest rec room.

Kirk left Spock to meditate in their borrowed quarters after breakfast, and decided to check on the damage to their more permanent digs, personally.

"Good morning, Captain," said Julian Martin, with a deliciously teasable mixture of nervousness and irritation.

"Morning, Jules. How goes it?"

"Well, sir, as I'm quite sure you know," he gave Kirk a look just pointed enough to get his point across, but benign enough to skirt the risk of insubordination, "the situation with the synthesizers is taking some time to repair, and Mr. Spock's fire shrine has been giving us quite the run for our money, as it were. It's ... quite temperamental, sir."

"So he's told me," muttered Kirk. "I take it you haven't found a way to stop it without filling the place with fire suppressant?"

"Not exactly, sir, no." Martin shifted. "In fact, we've had to use everything at our disposal to dampen its ... tendencies."

"Is the situation stabilized, yet?"

"Yes, sir, it seems to be. Mr. Scott says it would take a warp core explosion to ignite what's in that room. But sir..."

"Yes, Mr. Martin?"

"Well, whatever Mr. Spock had in that room, it's either burnt or ruined by the foam, the gel, the liquid and the vacuum."

"I'll be sure to let him know. Now, what about my quarters?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but the oxygen levels in there have been affected by the treatment of Mr. Spock's quarters. The shared lavatory..."

"Doesn't afford a complete seal, yes I know." Kirk scrubbed at his aching head. "Look, just fix the synthesizers in the VIP quarters Spock and I are sharing for the moment. Oh, and can you get another bed in there?"

Martin's fair skin reddened. "I'm sorry again, sir, but we haven't the resources to produce one, with the ship's systems functioning as they are. We could use Mr. Spock's help, sir, if that would be possible."

"I only wish it were," gritted Kirk. "Lord knows, he's needed in about twenty different capacities, right now, but McCoy's not going to let him do a thing for at least three days." He patted Martin's shoulder. "Do what you can, Jules. And don't worry; it isn't your fault the First Officer decided to traipse on board with a fire hazard in his luggage."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir!"

Kirk turned on his heel and headed for Sickbay.

* * *

"I thought you'd come down here, about now." McCoy appraised Kirk in a once-over. "Headache?"

"Yes, I—God, I wish you wouldn't do that!"

"It's not hard to figure out when you're rubbing the back of your neck and looking like you wish you'd stayed out all night drinking." McCoy ran his bio-scanner over Kirk.

Kirk glared at McCoy. "If you know I have a headache, why don't you just give me the damn pill?"

"How many times have I got to tell you that without knowing why you have the damned headache, I could give you something that would make your symptoms worse?" McCoy checked his scanner. "Have you been sleeping in a hole in a tree?"

"Why, yes, Bones, I have. Why do you ask?" Kirk looked up just enough to turn an artificially pleasant look on McCoy.

"Very funny. Here, take these if you can pick your head up long enough to swallow them. If you can't, I'll have Nurse Johnson give you a massage." McCoy grinned, showing all his teeth.

"Ugh! Bones, that's—" Kirk snapped his head up and winced.

"Better?"

"NO!" Kirk bolted the pills and avoided a scream by grunting, instead.

"Nurse Johnson'll do it, every time," grinned McCoy. "Best damn new toy since I came back on board. Almost makes me forgive you for drafting me. Almost."

"I doubt that Nurse Johnson would appreciate being called a toy, Bones. He's kind of sensitive, in a terrifying and huge sort of a way."

"Yeah, and his claws don't always retract when he's upset," said McCoy, with a twinkle.

"I've heard Uhura talking about taking lessons from him on nail art," said Kirk, rubbing some pain from his neck. "Wow, Bones, these work fast!"

"Yeah, they do. But whatever it is that you're doing to make that headache happen, you have to stop. These can't be taken all that often."

"Why not? They're great!"

"Oh, they're fine for a day or two, but then they start to dissolve your pain sensors. Not a great thing for an active guy like a Starship Captain."

Kirk grimaced. "You don't have any bourbon, do you?"

"Not for use with those pills, I don't. But you might like this almost as much." McCoy handed Kirk a mug of something thick and gray.

Kirk sniffed at it, suspiciously. "Well, at least it doesn't smell like sewage," he allowed.

"Sewage? Now why would your good old country doctor be feeding you sewage?"

"Spock pulled something that looked an awful lot like this out of the synthesizer this morning when he asked it for coffee. Only it had a pink umbrella and a fin sort of swimming around in it."

"That's what you get for using machines to make your food out of thin air! This stuff's the real thing. Straight out of the barrel. Drink up! You won't feel a thing."

"I thought that's what we were trying to avoid."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Look, if you don't drink it, I will! It tastes great, and has a kick that makes you think you've had six nights in a row out on the town, with no unpleasant side effects. You interested, or what?"

Kirk fixed McCoy with a stare and knocked back half the glass. Then his eyes went wide, and he stumbled against McCoy's desk, mouth working, eyes watering. "Oh ... mygod!"

McCoy gave him an exasperated sigh. "Didn't I warn you about the kick? Didn't I? You're supposed to SIP it!"

Kirk shook his head and put the rest of the drink down on the desk. "Noted. You can sip the rest of this ... whatever it is." He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Bones, just get me through the next three days, or however long Spock and I will be sharing quarters. They don't have an extra bed, and I've got to sleep on the couch."

"Why? Spock won't share?"

"Don't joke about that, Bones," snapped Kirk.

"What joking? You two have shared a bed before, when you had to. What's the problem?"

"Nothing, I suppose." Kirk contemplated the glass he'd just set down on McCoy's desk.

"You sure you don't want any more of that?"

Kirk looked up to catch McCoy's shrewd look, bit back his retort and picked up the glass. "Over the lips, over the gums..." He took a sip, winced and shook his head. "Smoooth!"

McCoy sat down, poured himself a glass of gray goop and put his feet up on the desk, gesturing at the chair on the other side.

Kirk sighed and sat, heavily. After a long while, he looked up to find McCoy watching him. He eyed his glass suspiciously. "What's in here, truth serum?"

McCoy grinned. "Not unless you count synthetic alcohol as truth serum."

"Synthetic alcohol? I thought you said this stuff was good!"

"It is! You had some yourself, remember? The Andorians really outdid themselves on this stuff. Best kick in the universe that doesn't actually kick you."

"Yeah, but they really ought to do something about the texture. And the color." Kirk shut his eyes and took another sip. "Tastes good, though, specially if you like benzene."

McCoy took a sip of his own. "So you want to tell me what's eating at you?"

"Nothing." Kirk took another blind sip of the Andorian brew. He didn't have to look to feel McCoy's eyes boring into him.

"Wanna try that one again?"

Kirk held his breath for what seemed a very long time, then started to deflate. "It's Spock."

"Well, he's enough to drive anyone to drink," quipped McCoy, with a friendly smile in his voice.

Kirk looked at McCoy for a moment. "You may be right." This time, Kirk looked his glass squarely in the eye as he drank.

"Have you talked with him, yet?"

"Yes. About what?"

"Oh, I don't know ... the weather on Gol, the state of the synthesizers, the latest chess strategies, why he left?"

Kirk tensed for a moment, then forced himself to relax. "Yes. We talked about that, a bit."

"You still angry with him?"

Kirk looked up sharply to meet knowing, steel eyes. "Why should I be angry with him?"

"I don't know, Jim, why don't you tell me?"

"I'm not angry with him. How could I be angry with him? He's my best friend. He had to go away to find peace of mind. I let him go. What's there to be angry about?"

"You took off for Vulcan the day he left without getting permission from Nogura. The rumor mill has it that you called in every favor you ever racked up to keep that off your record."

Kirk rubbed his neck. "I did have the help of a few friends." He knocked back the rest of his drink, hardly noticing it.

"Jim, if you're still that mad at him, I can order him confined to Sickbay until separate quarters can be arranged for you two."

"No!" Then, more quietly, "He asked me not to confine him here. It's just..."

McCoy quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Did I ever tell you how much you look like Spock when you do that?"

McCoy's other eyebrow flew up to join the first.

Kirk laughed, but stifled it quickly when McCoy remained impassive. He began to pace. "Look, Spock told me something ... called me something, last night." He swung around to face McCoy. "Just how much did V'ger damage his synapses? I mean, is Spock in his right mind?"

McCoy gazed at Kirk. "He has trouble with certain autonomic issues. He's not able to go into a healing trance safely and shouldn't be left unmonitored for too long. He's much more sensitive to climate than he should be, and his emotional responses are not as guarded as usual. I suppose that he'd be called mad by some of the more ascetic Vulcans because of that, but he's perfectly sane, as far as I know. Why? Did he call you a bastard, or tell you that he's in love with you?"

Kirk stared at McCoy for a moment. "The latter. Why?" He spoke very fast.

"Well, I'll be!" A triumphant smile spread over McCoy's face. "He finally admitted it!"

Kirk swallowed, fast and hard. "What?" he asked, flatly.

"Well, Jim, it's been obvious to everyone on the ship who's known the two of you for longer than three days. Spock's been gaga for you for years!"

"Ga—" Kirk swallowed. "Gaga?"

"Well, yeah! But the point is, he's told you now, finally. How do you feel about that?"

"God, Bones, I don't know! My best friend tells me – sort of – that he's in love with me—"

"Sort of?"

"He called me T'hy'la. When I asked him how he meant it, he said in all ways."

"Ta-who?"

"T'hy'la. It means friend, brother and/or lover."

"I'd say that was more than sort of."

"Yeah, well... Bones, you know me. I don't _do_ men! I mean, beyond jerking one guy off at the Academy, I'm really not interested in males." Kirk started pacing furiously.

"You do have quite an impressive record with the ladies."

"And some who weren't quite so ... defined," supplied Kirk.

"Oh? Curiouser and curiouser!" McCoy stifled his leer in a sip from his drink.

"Bones!"

"Well, just how undefined were they?" Something in McCoy's voice made it clear that his curiosity was not prurient.

"It ... varied."

"How did it vary?"

Kirk's face began to heat. "Some of them had breasts, some of them had something like a vagina, one had breasts and a penis and a sort of ... compartment. None of them had testicles. Well, not visible ones, anyway."

"Sounds to me like you're pretty adventurous, Jim. It probably wouldn't take you too long to get over the idea of disliking testes."

"I don't dislike them," protested Kirk, flushing in earnest at the thought. "I'm very attached to one particular pair."

"I would hope so!"

"Very funny!" Kirk glared hard at McCoy, trying to stare down his own blush. "Are you trying to hook me up with my First Officer, Doctor?"

"Well, yes. I suppose I am, God help me." It was McCoy's turn to flush, just a bit.

Kirk noted the reaction with a satisfaction that passed into panic. "I can't, Bones. He's my First Officer! And he's my friend." Kirk slumped into the chair he'd occupied before. "What if we try something and it fails?"

"Then it fails, and you move on."

"I can't lose Spock," said Kirk, very quietly.

"You lost him before," countered McCoy, suddenly serious.

"And I missed him so much I couldn't think straight."

"How many women have you felt that way about?"

"None," said Kirk, bleakly.

"Really?" McCoy sounded surprised. "What about Edith Keeler?"

"I was devastated."

"I was there."

"It was worse when Spock left."

"But not much."

"But not much." Kirk bowed his head over his clasped hands on the desk. "I love him, Bones. I don't know if I want to be with him sexually, but I love him. Obviously I can live without him if I have to, but it's no fun."

"I know, Jim." McCoy reached across his desk and squeezed Kirk's shoulder.

"What?"

"Spock's not the only one around here who's been looking at his best friend all starry-eyed."

Kirk groaned and let his head fall into his hands in mid-curse.

* * *

Two hours later, Kirk entered his temporary quarters and discovered that Spock was not in the living area. He poked his head around the corner of the bedroom to determine Spock's current state of sleep or meditation, and discovered his First Officer curled up in the bed, asleep and shivering despite the raised temperature. Kirk retrieved the robe from the chair on which it rested and covered Spock carefully.

Yawning himself, he padded to the head, removed his clothes and deposited them outside the room ( _can't risk putting them into the recycler when I don't know what I'll be given instead_ ) and programmed the synthesizer for comfortable civilian clothing, suitable for a lazy day of rest. He closed his eyes as he felt the clothes materialize on his body, and opened them reluctantly after the machine had done its work. He looked into the mirror and sighed in relief. While the color was not the soft brown he'd programmed, and the feather bracelet was something that he'd never have countenanced, the silk-like microfiber shirt and trousers were the correct style and fit, and very comfortable. Even the errant aquamarine color was not too hard to bear.

He removed the bracelet and dropped it into the recycler, then gathered up the clothing he had left outside the door and hung it up in the closet. He moved toward the couch with an anticipatory rub at the back of his neck, and then paused as Spock's breathing distracted him. The Vulcan was still shivering, even with the added cloak.

Kirk changed course and felt Spock's forehead. No fever. In fact, Spock felt slightly cooler to the touch than he'd expected. Kirk went to the other side of the bed and climbed in, moving closer to Spock. "McCoy will never let me live this down," he muttered to himself, so quietly that Spock didn't stir. Kirk reached to touch Spock's shoulder, then thought better of it and simply folded his arms around him.

Spock turned immediately in Kirk's arms and returned the embrace. "Zarabeth," he whispered.

Kirk froze for a moment as Spock curled around him, then he started to shake with silent laughter. "It's not quite that cold in here," he murmured through his grin.

Spock stirred in his arms. "Jim?"

"Yes."

"How did I…" Spock began to pull away.

Kirk held on. "It's all right Spock. You were asleep and shivering. You feel a bit cool, even for you."

"My b-body temperature is…" Spock paused through a shiver. "One point zero six degrees below optimum."

Kirk pulled him closer and rubbed his back. "Well, then, we'd better warm you up some, right?"

Spock sighed and burrowed into Kirk. "That would be agreeable," he slurred, drifting back to sleep.

Kirk pulled the covers up over both of them and settled the robe over Spock. "Anything to make you well," he murmured.

* * *

Kirk began to regret his earlier words when Spock's hand connected hard with his chest, waking him from a sound sleep and coming close to winding him. "Spock!" Instantly at combat alert, he rolled away from flailing limbs and off the bed, onto his feet. Blinking back sleep, he focused on his erstwhile bedmate.

Spock was clearly in the midst of a nightmare or vision, mouth working, face twisted into a grimace as a tear made its way down his cheek.

"Spock... Spock!" Kirk took a chance and caught his friend's hands in his own. "Spock, it's Jim. Wake up!" He dodged a poorly aimed kick to his midsection. "Spock!"

Brown eyes flew open and Spock snapped bolt upright, sending Kirk off balance to sit haphazardly on the bed. "Jim!" Spock sat and stared, panting, twisting his fingers to grip Kirk's hands hard.

Kirk could feel the bones begin to give way in his fingers. "Spock ... my hands."

Spock's eyes focused immediately, and he let go Kirk's hands with a look of horror.

Kirk winced and pulled his hands protectively to himself.

"I beg forgiveness," managed Spock.

"Granted, if you tell me what the hell brought that on," said Kirk, unable to find a comfortable position for his hands.

Spock swallowed and withdrew. "A nightmare, Captain."

"Care to tell me about it?" It was not so much a question as an order.

"I was with V'ger." Spock looked haunted.

"Go on," said Kirk, fighting the unpleasant feeling he always got when something irrational but possible nagged at him.

"It was a memory I'd thought lost." Spock looked unnerved.

"Tell me more." The threatening ache in Kirk's belly began to subside.

"V'ger was angry. So alone. It wanted. It needed."

"You've told us that before."

"Yes. But I had not told you that V'ger tried to possess me. To join forcibly with me."

Kirk's hand shot out to Spock's arm, which stiffened a little under his touch. "Spock…."

"The experience was … overwhelming. It held me in forced communion for eternity, shared all its knowledge and extracted all of mine."

Kirk squeezed Spock's arm. "What made it decide to give you back to us?"

"V'ger found an obstacle at the center of my being that it could neither understand nor surmount."

Kirk searched his eyes. "Your love for your shipmates," he offered, softly.

"Yes," said Spock, after a long moment, as he held Kirk's gaze.

Kirk swallowed, eyes stinging.

"It tried to destroy that part of me that could love. I'd thought I'd already accomplished that at Gol. I'd thought I'd experienced all the pain that could entail. I had no idea how much more there was." Spock covered Kirk's hand with his own, very gently, caressing it.

Kirk turned his fingers to grasp Spock's hand equally fondly. "How did you survive it?"

"I commenced shut-down of all autonomic systems."

"You shut down... So you tried to die?"

"That is essentially correct."

"Spock! How could you do that?"

"If you want a technical explanation—"

"Not now."

"Then the emotional one you may be seeking is that when I realized what V'ger was doing, I also realized that I would choose not to live without being able to feel my love for you."

"I can see why you didn't report that," Kirk acknowledged.

"Jim." Spock pressed Kirk's hand between his own. "Despite the foolishness of doing so, nothing would have given me greater pleasure than to report it, if to nobody other than you and McCoy."

Kirk blinked back emotion.

"However, V'ger did not allow me to remember that part of our interaction. Until this dream, I remembered nothing between my initial joining with the entity and waking up in Sickbay. I fear there may be more of these disturbances as my neural pathways recover. Have you been successful in finding separate quarters for us?"

"Apart from Sickbay, there's nothing else available." Kirk looked up from their joined hands and grinned at Spock. "Why? Trying to get rid of me?"

"No, but I don't wish to disturb your sleep. I believe that you should have the bed tonight, and I—"

"We'll share, Spock." Kirk backed his tone with a firm squeeze to Spock's hand, which he then released.

"Captain, I—"

"That couch gave me a headache so bad that McCoy had to give me a drug that'll dissolve my pain sensors permanently if I take it more than once in a very great while. He also made me drink some Andorian gunk that looked far too much like what you pulled out of the food synthesizer this morning. I'm not sleeping on that thing again if I can help it, and neither are you."

"Have you considered the physical risk to yourself if I should experience another such nightmare?"

"Sure! Takes me back to my combat training days: Always wake up fighting!"

Spock shot him a baleful look.

"Spock ... you weren't quite awake when I got into bed with you, earlier. I'm quite sure that if we go to sleep together, you'll be less inclined to hit me." Kirk let his mouth quirk in an evil smile. "Though you did make me quite curious about your relationship with Zarabeth."

Both of Spock's eyebrows sought refuge in his bangs. "I fail to see the connection between my unfortunate behavior towards you and my time with Zarabeth. I never was violent towards her, even in sleep."

Kirk laughed and patted Spock's knee. "I know. Just as I know you won't harm me. Besides, I've always survived my fights with you."

"That is true," conceded Spock. "And your company is most agreeable."

"As is yours." Kirk reached out after a moment to brush Spock's bangs aside and feel his forehead. "Are you warmer, yet?"

"Yes," murmured Spock. "My core temperature is now zero point nine seven degrees cooler than my normal range, which is an improvement of..." He trailed off as he met Kirk's gaze.

"Here, Spock, let's put this robe around you instead of over you. It's very warm."

"Jim, I wouldn't—"

"Well, I would." Kirk stood and pulled Spock out of bed, reaching for where the robe pooled and spilled at the edge of the mattress. Before Spock could object, Kirk had fastened it around him and was standing back to admire it on its intended recipient.

Even exhausted and gaunt as he was, Spock was resplendent in the gift his mother had had made for him.

"Wow! It's nice to see it on someone else, for a change. Especially on you, since I'd always—since it was made for you, in the first place. Turn around! Let me see it in motion. I only ever caught the le-matya in Amanda's mirror when I wore it, and it felt... Well, I'd like to see it on you."

"I fear that you will be disappointed."

"Fishing for compliments, Spock? That isn't like you," teased Kirk. "Go ahead." He signaled Spock to turn around.

Spock hesitated for a long moment before acquiescing to his Captain's demand.

As Kirk watched in admiration, the robe started to reveal its secret figure. Slowly, very slowly, Kirk felt his jaw turn slack. There, running across Spock's torso in the opposite direction from the le-matya, was a lion. The le-matya was nowhere to be seen.

"I tried to warn you about disappointment, Jim." Spock's voice was soft, richer than usual.

"You left something out about this robe."

"Yes."

"Will you tell me?"

"Some of the silks used in its making are keyed to react with very specific genetic proteins. It is tradition that the figures woven into the garment are the representations in nature of each of the bonded parties. When one wears it, the symbol of one's bond-mate appears."

"So ... I couldn't see either creature if it weren't being worn by one of the people for whom it was made?"

"That is correct."

"Then, your mother believed that I..."

"Affirmative."

"I'm a lion?"

Spock ducked his head for a moment, some discomfort playing about his mouth. "It is how I have always seen you," he managed.

"How did she get hold of my DNA?"

"I do not know," said Spock, disapproval subsuming everything else.

"You aren't happy about this... I thought you said she'd made a good choice."

"It is considered most unethical to collect such specimens without permission from at least one of the concerned parties for the making of these robes. Mother should know better." Spock frowned. "So should the makers. This is most odd. As for her choice of bondmate and image," his voice softened, "she could not have been more accurate on my behalf." He paused for a moment, then stepped closer to Kirk. "You are not bound by my feelings, Jim. There is no cause for concern. I would have stopped Mother from having this made, had I known of her plans."

"Then perhaps it's just as well that you didn't know of them." Kirk's voice was soft and full. He gazed at Spock, noticing the angles and planes of his face, the leanness of his body, the graceful sweep of ear and brow that he had always loved, and it came to his consciousness that this was not the first time he'd noticed that his friend was beautiful. A tingle ran through him, and he felt a stirring low in his belly that took him aback. He set his hand on Spock's neck and took a breath to suppress his panic. "Spock... I love you – very much – but I'll admit that I need time to think about a physical relationship with you."

Spock reached toward Kirk's cheek and faltered. "Jim, I do not require sexual intimacy from you."

Kirk took Spock's hand and pressed it. "You do require touch," he said, voice thick.

"I do not know that I can bear it," whispered Spock.

Kirk released his hand gently. "I won't force you, Spock, but you have my permission to touch me whenever you want to." He bit his lip. "Unless you're going to hit me," he added, ruefully.

* * *

"Damn! Either I'm slipping, or your recovery is proceeding faster than we'd hoped." Kirk stared at the board one last time.

"You are not slipping," said Spock, smugly.

Kirk glanced sharply at Spock, and then tried willing the board to provide him with an answer he couldn't see. When that answer failed to materialize, he tipped over his king with an exaggerated sigh. "There are times when I almost wish you'd take a bit longer to recover," he grumbled.

Spock raised an eyebrow.

"Well, you do play a very annoying game of chess," muttered Kirk, trying to quell a smile.

"You defeated me once, and we've achieved two draws," Spock pointed out.

"That's true," acknowledged Kirk on a yawn.

"Perhaps we should consider retiring for the night," suggested Spock.

"Afraid I'll win next time?" teased Kirk.

"On the contrary," blinked Spock, "I merely wish to be sure that when you return to duty tomorrow, you are well rested."

"Of course you do," needled Kirk, "which means that we could always try a round of speed chess."

"Captain, as you know, I have never been in favor of speed over strategy."

"Mr. Spock, as I'm sure you're aware, I am counting on it!" Kirk found his face engulfed most embarrassingly in another yawn.

"Jim, it would not satisfy either of us to defeat an opponent operating at less than optimal capacity."

"That is also true," said Kirk, unable to stifle yet another yawn. "I just don't want to stop playing. I've missed this." He picked up his knight. "I haven't really played since you left..."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "That is a shame, Captain."

"Yes, I suppose it is," said Kirk, tightly, suddenly wishing he were anywhere else.

"I did not mean to give offense."

Kirk sighed. "You didn't. Not really. You just ... hit a sore spot you couldn't have known about." He looked up. "It's all right. It probably needed to get hit. I really have wasted my potential." He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Perhaps you would care to tell me of it?"

Kirk laughed. "Have I ever told you how much you remind me of McCoy when you do that?"

Spock focused his gaze a little harder on Kirk.

Kirk shook his head with a smile. "God, I need to make you two stand in front of a big mirror, someday."

"Jim, I believe that you are engaging in a strategy known as 'stalling'."

"Yes, I am," said Kirk, right away.

Spock continued to gaze at him.

"Spock... Dammit!"

"Should we change the subject, Captain?"

"No. Damn!" His curse was quiet. "The last two years have been ... interesting. I finally took Komack's advice and started focusing on my career. Went to the right parties whenever I had to, took the right promotion, married the right wife." He locked his hands behind his back and stared out the window. "I threw myself into my work, just as I always did."

"I do not understand. You sound bitter, and yet you have achieved the success you always sought, have you not?"

Kirk huffed a bitter laugh. "I never wanted to be an admiral, Spock, you know that!" He shook his head and collected himself, too close to the edge of control. "But it was a good way to be what I was supposed to be."

"Even though it cost you what you were?"

Kirk winced inside, and saw Spock catch it. "It seemed the best thing to do at the time," he said, flatly.

Spock approached Kirk. "Why did you give up the _Enterprise_?"

"They promoted me. Admirals don't command starships." The bitterness pouring from his voice surprised him.

"They would have let you keep her, if you'd fought."

"Damn you, Spock! Don't you think I know that?" Kirk forced himself to walk away from his friend, putting the table between them. "People come, people go. People stay, they leave." He felt the bitterness invade his face at this last. "You get used to that in Starfleet. You get used to being alone."

When at last Kirk looked, Spock seemed startlingly open without having moved so much as an eyelash.

Kirk looked away and shrugged. "You know you'll probably run into them again, sometime. You harden yourself." He set his face against the bleakness of his own voice.

"That was a course you rarely took."

"I should have taken it more often," hissed Kirk.

"Did it have the desired effect you when you did?"

Kirk poured every bit of anger he'd felt for two years into his eyes. "No."

"You have your ship and crew back, now."

"For a little while," said Kirk. He turned his back on Spock, overcome by the implications of his statement. He was still trying to control himself when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Jim."

"Don't!"

"T'hy'la."

"Spock..."

"I am not leaving, again. As Miss Keeler pointed out so long ago, my place is at your side, always."

Kirk slumped under Spock's hand. "I hadn't even fathomed how much I'd missed you," he whispered.

Spock stepped beside Kirk, a hand remaining on his shoulder. "I heard you calling to me at Gol," he confessed. "I couldn't bear it, so I attempted to block out your voice. Fortunately, I did not succeed."

Kirk let out a shuddering breath. "I missed you so much." He snorted with little mirth. "I keep repeating myself. It was the only thing I felt – really _felt_ – for all that time. I thought I'd forget you if I focused on my own life. Didn't work."

"Perhaps it is just as well that we failed in our respective goals."

Slowly, Kirk slipped his arm around Spock's waist and felt an arm tighten around his shoulders, in turn. "Yes..." The moment was spoiled by the yawn that overtook him. "I think you were right about retiring," he quipped behind his hand.

"Yes. I, too, am fatigued."

"Four games in one day is a bit much," Kirk teased.

"I did not find it burdensome," said Spock, "although four games in one hour is a disturbing indication of our current lack of mental acuity."

Kirk frowned through another yawn.

"It is, rather, my need for healing that necessitates sleep."

Kirk squeezed Spock affectionately and let him go, clapping him on the shoulder. "You can have the head, first."

Damp from a water shower (the sonic shower was not something he wished to trust in these quarters, just yet), Kirk sat on the edge of the bed, trying to towel off as much water as he could. "The dryer isn't working too well," he griped.

Spock, propped against the headboard, turned sleepily towards Kirk. "I shall have to speak with Mr. Martin about that."

Kirk turned toward Spock. "You should be asleep."

"Yes. I needed to wait for you. I cannot risk hurting you, again."

Kirk tossed his towel on the floor and got into bed. "Come here," he said.

Spock raised his eyebrow.

"Come on," smiled Kirk, holding out his arms, "I won't bite."

"Captain—"

"We're sleeping together, Spock. It's 'Jim'."

"Jim, there is no need—"

"If you're holding onto me when you fall asleep, you're a lot less likely to attack me during the night." He twitched his arms towards Spock, both invitation and order.

"That is logical," allowed Spock. He slid down and then hesitantly into Kirk's arms.

"That's more like it!" Kirk smiled and began to settle them. "Spock, it might help if you moved, a little…."

"Jim, your elbow—"

"Try bending your legs—Oof! Spock! Your knee!"

"I beg forgiveness—"

"Spock!" Kirk tightened his grip around Spock, holding him firmly in place. He pulled back enough to look at him. "Relax." He searched Spock's eyes for a moment, and then stretched to kiss his forehead. Velvet-cool skin. He drew back enough to see startled eyes.

Spock shivered in his arms. "Jim," he whispered.

"It's all right," said Kirk, softly. "Just be with me." He folded his arms closely around Spock. "It's all right..."

Spock wrapped his arms around Kirk, body and limbs slowly relaxing.

"That's it," said Kirk, settling onto his back. He smiled as Spock rested his head on his shoulder. "See? This is nice."

"Agreed." Spock's voice was thick.

Kirk felt his heart fill. He drew his arms a little tighter around his friend and shifted till they fit together as though they'd never part. He stroked Spock's hair. Silky smooth and softer than he'd imagined.

Spock rumbled slightly under Kirk's touch.

Kirk smiled and continued to stroke as Spock continued to rumble. "You're purring," he murmured.

"Vulcans do purr," replied Spock, "under the right circumstances."

Kirk grinned, broadly, barely restraining a giggle. "You like this, then?"

"I have never known anything like it before."

"Nobody has ever stroked your hair?"

"Not since I was an infant."

"The more fool they!"

"Why do you say that?" Spock nestled down further against Kirk, arching into the touch.

"Because it feels wonderful! Your hair, I mean. And look at how you react! Who could resist that?"

"Are you saying that you find me irresistible?"

Kirk squeezed Spock and rested his cheek against the soft hair. "Feeling a little smug?"

"Really, Captain, Vulcans are incapable of such emotions."

Kirk laughed from deep within his being. "Welcome back, Mr. Spock!" He was sure that he felt the curve of a Vulcan smile pressed into his collarbone.

* * *

He awoke to the feeling of fingers against his cheek. Then he realized that he was crying, though he didn't know why.

"Jim." Spock thumbed the tears away. "Why do you weep?"

"I don't know." He grasped Spock's arms, looking up into eyes that betrayed concern. Love. "Must have had a nightmare, I guess." Impulsively, he pulled Spock into his arms. "Did you sleep well?" he inquired into Spock's neck.

"Very well," said Spock, returning Kirk's embrace.

"Good." Kirk wiped his eyes quickly against Spock's shoulder and pulled back. "Well, I'd best be getting to the Bridge—"

"Jim," Spock tightened his fingers slightly around one arm, "I believe that you are not scheduled to begin your shift for another four point two hours."

"I'm not—" Kirk looked at the chronometer and cursed, sitting against the headboard. "That would explain why I'm still tired." He squinted down at his own cheeks. "Though I still seem to be crying. Why am I crying, Spock?"

"I believe that I had just asked you that question, Jim. If you truly do not know, perhaps we should summon McCoy."

"He'd just tell me I'd been bottling up my feelings for too long," dismissed Kirk. "He'd probably be right. Good thing I don't have to go to the Bridge for ... another two hours and eleven minutes."

"I believe that you mean four hours, eleven minutes and ten seconds," observed Spock.

"Oh, yes, of course. Forgot to consider the seconds." Kirk sighed. "And I can't even do the math right on the hours." He looked up at Spock. "I woke you, didn't I?"

"You were somewhat ... physical in your repose, Captain."

"Did I hit you?"

With a slight inclination of his head, Spock replied, "In your parlance, I believe you would say that we are now 'even'."

Kirk noticed a dark, greenish cast to the bridge of Spock's nose. "No, I'd say you owe me one more."

"I do not intend to honor that debt." Spock searched Kirk's face. "Jim, can you sleep?"

"I can try."

"Perhaps I could help you, if you would permit it."

"A meld, you mean?"

"Affirmative."

"Spock, no offense, but if you can't manage a healing trance, should you be engaging in a meld?"

"Not a deep one, but I have recovered sufficiently to manage a shallow one. And I have noted before that our minds are not incompatible."

Kirk smiled. "No," he said softly, "they are not."

"Then shall we proceed?"

"Yes."

Spock closed his eyes and took a breath. "I am ready," he said, quietly, eyes on Kirk's.

"So am I."

Kirk held himself ready for Spock, expecting the familiar pressure of fingers and warmth of mind.

"My mind to your mind." _My thoughts to yours—_

 _Spock!_ Kirk's mind-self caught Spock's in a mental embrace and spun him around in unrestrained joy.

 _Jim!_ Spock returned the gesture in full measure, beaming and laughing as he danced with Kirk.

 _Welcome, welcome, welcomewelcomewelcome!_

 _T'hy'la..._ Spock radiated light and heat.

 _Spock! OhSpockhowImissedthismissedyouloveyou!_

Spock's mind-self held Kirk's gently in place. _We must be careful not to go too deep._

Despite the admonition, Kirk felt himself enveloped in Spock's affection. He flooded the meld with his own before organizing his thoughts with an effort. _I know._

 _I, too, am disappointed. We must calm ourselves, now._

 _Yes._

 _May I see your last dream?_

 _Yes, if you can find it._

 _You have great courage. Your trust does me honor._

 _As yours does me._ Kirk opened himself more while schooling his emotions, trying to remove obstructions for Spock. The wave of affection he felt from Spock didn't help. He curled around it and nuzzled it before pulling himself together and clearing his mind as best he could. _Forgive..._

 _There is nothing to forgive._

Kirk felt Spock move deeper. _Are you all right this deep?_

 _Yes. It is not dangerous here._

 _You're sure...?_

 _T'hy'la._

 _All right, I'll—Oh! Oh, god..._ There was Rayna, and Miramanee, and Edith, and pain, and Spock ripped from him time and again, just when he needed him most and neither of them wished to part. There was his pain. There was Spock's pain. There was Lori and Sonak – Spock – ripped and rent and blended and ruined on the transporter pad, and he was mourning an impossible death and knowing that he'd never again see the one who'd meant the most to him, and hating the one who shouldn't have died with him – didn't have the right to die with him – and shame. Shame and guilt and pain and fear and he was _old._ Old before his time and bent to the ground under pallets of bitterness and the profound weight of utter, utter emptiness. And then there was light. Light. Unbearable Light that seared through him, forcing him to be happy, even though he knew it couldn't last. How dare it not last? How dare it leave again, so soon? It was his place to decide when to leave, not Light's place to leave him. But Light was unhappy, incomplete, needed to leave. Light had returned, but Light would leave him, again. Spock would leave. No, Spock had promised to stay. Spock wouldn't break his promise. He – shot away from the dream and back to the meld: Spock was exhausted.

 _Jim. Beloved._

A wave of longing flowed from Spock and engulfed Kirk. _I know._

 _I must end the meld, now._

 _It's all right._

As he came back to himself, Kirk felt the tears on his cheeks and knew their origin. "Spock..."

"I am undamaged."

"I'm not so sure I am," quipped Kirk.

"No, you are not. I am sorry."

"I only meant that it isn't every day a man gets his mind read," said Kirk, shifting uncomfortably.

"You were right, Jim. I will not break my promise to you."

Kirk drew Spock's face close to his own and pressed their foreheads together. "I won't leave you either, you know," he said, after a long moment.

"I know." Spock leaned more heavily against Kirk. "Jim, I can no longer stay awake."

"It's all right," said Kirk, tugging Spock down with him as he settled further into the bed. "Let's get some sleep."

* * *

It was damned good to be back on the Bridge, even though much of it was under construction. The weapons station was being rewired, the patched navigation station was being repaired properly, and the science station was currently unmanned as the controls Spock had smashed were being replaced and retooled according to the science officer's specifications. "We really need to put in at a starbase," Kirk mumbled to himself as a tech on an anti-grav hovered near his chair to patch a burn in the ceiling.

Uhura was handling reports from all over the ship of sonic shower malfunctions, synthesizer mischief and climate disasters. Kirk pricked up his ears at a report from exo-sciences that the desert greenhouse door had been frozen shut, literally, and reached automatically for the intercom to call for Spock's attention to the matter before he remembered that the first officer was most likely in Sickbay, where McCoy had ordered him. Damn! Quite apart from the fact that it was becoming clearer and clearer that the ship's systems needed some Vulcan discipline, Kirk had relished the chance to tease Spock on the off chance he hadn't already been aware of the chaos in his department. He smiled to himself. _Some other time._

The _coup de grâce_ occurred about two hours into his shift, when a report came from Deck 7 of a wall giving way. Just as Kirk was wheeling around to face Uhura, the fire alert sounded.

"Captain! Fire in Mr. Spock's quarters. Spreading through Deck 5!"

"Seal off Section 4, all decks! Evacuate all personnel! Kirk to Sickbay..."

"Sickbay, Chapel—"

"Have Mr. Spock meet me at his quarters, on the double!"

"Aye, sir."

Kirk was in the turbo-lift before Chapel could finish her reply.

It took the fire crew just minutes to suppress the flames in the corridor, but Kirk was seething when Spock joined him at the forcefield closest to their quarters.

"Captain?"

"Spock, that fire shrine of yours has got to go," he hissed, so that only Vulcan ears could hear.

Spock eyed the damage in the corridor from the seal, and then more closely when they were allowed access. "Yes, Captain, so it would seem. However, I would suggest that no attempt be made to transport it until I have neutralized it."

"Can you do that?" demanded Kirk.

"Yes, Captain. If you will please remain in Section 3, and seal off Section 4 again, the transporter chief should be able to remove it safely in three point two minutes. I shall also need the services of Lieutenant Martin to override the fire suppression mechanisms."

Kirk glared at Spock. "Very well. Security, clear Section 4 and seal it off. Mr. Spock is to be permitted full access. Security, Maintenance and Transporter Control, follow Mr. Spock's orders. Kirk out." Kirk turned to his first officer. "I'm holding you to your estimate, Spock," he growled, _sotto voce_.

Spock nodded. "Spock to Martin."

"Martin here, sir."

Kirk retreated to the forcefield dividing Section 4 from Section 3, and turned to watch.

Spock placed his fingers to his temple. "Mr. Martin, I presume you have repaired the cleaning units in this section according to my instructions?"

Kirk made a note of that development from his vantage point at the bulkhead.

"Yes, sir."

"Remove all foam and prepare to replace with halon gas pressurized to five terran atmospheres on my order."

"Halon! But sir—"

"Quickly, please, Mr. Martin. There is no time to be lost."

"Very well, sir."

Spock stood very still, turning inward. Kirk could see him assuming the Vulcan mask from deep inside, and it chilled him to see the profound change. _"It was set to my state of being at Gol, and has not been reset since I left."_ He shivered inside at this glimpse of his friend at Gol. He also hoped that it would work and they'd be rid of that damned fire hazard once and for all. Then, Spock entered his quarters, and Kirk's heart stopped.

It seemed an eternity before Spock emerged from his quarters, both ashen and somewhat singed. "The danger has been eliminated," he reported, walking unsteadily toward Kirk.

"Security! Unseal Deck 5, Section 4!"

As soon as the forcefield's hum went quiet, Kirk met Spock. "Are you all right?"

"I will be, in one point three five minutes."

Kirk chuckled as the cleanup crew took over, and took Spock's arm, leading him away from the bustle. "It's not everyone who can survive compressed halon for ... how long were you in there?"

"Two point one four minutes." Spock frowned when he stumbled. "It should not have affected me that much."

Kirk studied him for a moment and took a singed lock of hair between thumb and forefinger. "That thing burnt you through all that halon?"

"I miscalculated my entrance, Captain."

Kirk craned to look around Spock. "You're lucky it didn't get you more seriously. It is gone, isn't it? As in, never to return?"

"I did instruct Mr. Kyle to set the transporter to the widest angle of dispersion."

"Thank you, Mr. Spock. I'm sorry if you had to destroy a family heirloom."

"I did not."

"Oh?" If Spock had brought a cheap, mass-produced fire hazard aboard, he was gong to kill him.

"No," said Spock, flatly.

Kirk searched Spock's face and decided to put off further investigation until later. "Come on. Let's get you back to Sickbay."

"Must we?"

Kirk didn't even try to suppress his smile at Spock's pained tone. "Yes, we must! From what I've been seeing on the Bridge today, we're going to need you operating at peak efficiency as soon as possible, which means that McCoy and Chapel need to have at you for a while."

"I am not sure that McCoy's ministrations will help matters," averred Spock as Kirk tugged him along the corridor.

Kirk rolled his eyes. "By hook or by crook, I'm getting M'Benga back onto this ship at the very next available opportunity." He looked at Spock's stony face. "Preferably sooner."

* * *

Blessed relief! Kirk felt his heart leap and fill his being as he entered his quarters, now customized to his preferences, right down to pillows he could actually move and scrunch to any conformation he desired, and furniture that fit him instead of fighting him. The increased bed size, he kept. Martin had seen to it that it was now a free-standing unit, rather than one built into the wall. He'd already hit his head a few too many times on the version granted him during the refit, and his protests had been duly (and painstakingly) noted.

He checked the closet for his clothes, and found them in order. He felt a strange pang as he noted the absence of the Vulcan robe he'd carried with him for so long, and gave himself an exasperated sigh. He shook his head and explored the bathroom. There was no sign of damage, either from the fire or the various attempts to contain it. He used the head, brushed his teeth and eyed the clothing synthesizer. "Computer. Pajamas. Brown." He watched as a pair of synth-silk pajamas materialized and puddled to the floor. He bent down and touched them, gingerly. When his fingers remained intact, he picked up the pajamas and tried them on. They fit, perfectly. "Thank you, Jules," he sighed.

He headed straight for the bed, climbed into it and waved off the lights. It would be good to sleep in his own bed, by himself for the first time in three days, when things were finally starting to get back to normal on his ship. He sprawled out like a Rigellian desert spider sunning itself after a good shed. ( _Damn good thing Uhura never found those things cute; we'd have had personnel clotheslining themselves all over the ship within days!_ ) He turned to his right to voice his thoughts and found himself stymied by the empty pillow. He snorted at himself. "Next you'll be talking to yourself," he muttered.

He spread himself out even more on the bed and rolled possessively onto the cool expanse of empty sheet, stretching into it, clutching it, burying himself in it. He breathed in the clean scent of virgin bedding. "Mmm..."

However lovely his bed companions had been, however much he'd enjoyed sharing a night or even a week with them, Kirk had always relished the sheer, sensual pleasure of a bed to himself. During his longer-term relationships, he'd generally not been in the same place for more than a week at a time, so he'd never had to sacrifice this bit of hedonism for too long. The exception had been Miramanee. He'd been with her for several weeks, and it had never occurred to him to complain about sharing her bed. _Of course, I wasn't exactly in my right mind at the time._ In fact, they'd always awakened with one of them curled possessively around the other, much as he'd awakened with Spock – no, that was different. Wasn't it?

On each of the last two mornings, Kirk had awakened to find Spock pressed close to his side. This morning, he had been very touched to find Spock's head resting on his chest, as it had the previous morning, and a little nonplussed to discover the Vulcan's leg thrown over his hips, which had been a new development. He had shifted a little to avoid contact that could prove embarrassing given his usual physical state in the morning, but Spock had followed, tangling their legs together very comfortably and demonstrating in the most innocent and intimate of ways that human males were not the only ones in the galaxy with certain morning propensities. Effectively trapped, Kirk had pursued (quite vigorously) a philosophical approach to the situation. That, and thinking of the (he hoped) very unflattering depiction of his great-great-great-uncle Bulworth ('Bull Frog,' Sam had called him) on his mother's parlor wall, had granted him a state of humor that made the situation bearable, even though his physical state did not change.

A twitch and a shift, and Kirk had looked down to find Spock nuzzling his chest in his sleep, trying to get comfortable. On a wicked impulse, he'd begun to stroke Spock's hair. After just a few moments, he had proven his hypothesis: Vulcans purred in their sleep. Quietly. Lovely, low rumble against his chest. With a pang, Kirk had remembered Spock's words on the Bridge as they broke orbit around Omicron Ceti III: _"For the first time in my life, I was happy."_ Had Spock ever had this with anyone? Had Zarabeth held him thus as he'd slept? Was there even time? There hadn't been much of it with Leila, and from the sound of it, there'd been even less of it on Sarpeidon. He'd found himself hugging – _cuddling_ – Spock closer, pressing his lips into the glossy hair. Sweet, heady scent – he didn't think he'd ever get enough of it. A thread of desire formed and wove its way through him, and all of a sudden, his erection had become less about the time of day and more about the man in his arms. He had been exhilarated, then terrified as his cock twitched. As Kirk had contemplated how best to quit the embrace, and his erection had started to flag in his fear, Spock had moved restlessly and rolled away from him. Kirk's relief had been palpable, but he had also felt bereft, and embarrassed about it.

Coming back to the present, Kirk found himself stroking his rapidly hardening cock absently, and calculated just how long he'd gone without seeing to himself. _A week? No, two ... and I was angry. So angry... And I'm not, now. I'm happy, now._ His cock jerked in his hand at the thought, and he curled his fingers around his need, squeezing as the feeling of joy mounted. He was happy. How long had it been?

He had his ship back, he had another five-year mission with her. He had his crew back; even McCoy had stayed when Kirk had given him the chance to leave. Dear, irascible Bones! He'd been prepared for the doctor to resign at his first available opportunity, and so delighted when McCoy had signed on that he'd nearly thrown his arms around him on his final curse. It was good to have his friends back. Scotty, Uhura, Bones, Spock. Spock... A surge of happiness and need swept through him and he moaned, growing thicker and harder, aching. Aching, as he had been doing for so long. He arched into his hand, happy, aching – longing for a sweet weight in his arms, velvet skin to caress, fragrant hair to brush against his face, a delicious, low purr against his body—

The unexpected image blasted him into orgasm, and he cried out in the exquisite pain of release and yearning and dawn.

It took him longer than usual to come back to himself under the water shower he'd programmed. Then again, he didn't usually need a shower after a late night tryst with his hand. He was irritable and shaky as he emerged from the bathroom, and so jumped at the buzz from the door. "Come!"

"Captain, are you all right?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"I heard you cry out."

"Just a dream. I'm sorry I woke you."

"You did not wake me."

"You were supposed to be asleep four hours ago. McCoy won't approve."

"No."

"Are you all right?"

"I am unable to sleep."

"Too much rest over the last three days?"

"Perhaps."

"Want to play chess?"

"I... You should rest."

"Spock, for god's sake come in!"

Spock hesitated for a long moment, and then seemed to come to a decision. He entered, just enough for the doors to close, and stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Now, what's wrong?"

"I do not know."

Kirk pinched Spock's shirtsleeve and tugged him towards a chair. "Sit down," he said, gently.

Spock complied.

Kirk pulled up another chair and sat. "Try."

"It is illogical," Spock said at last.

Kirk leaned forward. "Try me." _Trust me._

"I ... find that I miss you."

Kirk swallowed.

"I did warn you that it was illogical," said Spock, his raised eyebrow not quite masking his nerves.

Kirk dropped his eyes. "I am experiencing a similar difficulty," he said, after a time.

"That might serve to explain your cry."

"What do you mean?"

"I heard my name, Jim."

Kirk blinked then dropped his head into his hands, covering his blush. "Oh, damn. "

There was an awkward silence. "Perhaps if I obtained a new fire shrine, I would be better able to meditate," offered Spock.

Kirk's head shot up, and he stared at Spock. "Very funny," he managed. "Jules would kill you, and I might forget to put him on report."

"It would be an understandable, if unfortunate reaction."

Kirk laughed, a wave of warmth and happiness such as he hadn't experienced in many years engulfing him. "How about that chess game?"

"That would be agreeable."

* * *

"Your mind is not on the game," observed Spock. "Checkmate."

"You're quite right," said Kirk, tipping over his king. "We've gotta stop meeting like this."

"Do you wish to seek a different opponent?"

"No! No, Spock, that's just a reference to old Earth culture. A joke," he clarified after a long pause.

"Ah." The awkward silence was back.

"Could you sleep, now?"

"Possibly."

"You don't sound convinced."

"It is a possibility, not a certainty."

"Care to give me the odds?"

"If I return to my quarters now, there is a five point three seven percent probability that I will enter a successful sleep cycle."

Kirk frowned. "Those aren't very good odds, Spock. What can we do to increase them?"

"Captain, it is not necessary for you to stay with me until I can sleep. I can work—"

"You're still on the invalid list, mister. No working until you're cleared for duty."

Spock inclined his head, bleakly.

"Spock ... do you need company?"

Spock didn't reply or raise his head as Kirk put away the chess game.

Kirk stopped near Spock, touching his shoulder. "Would you like to spend the night?" he asked, very softly.

Spock remained very still for a time, and then slowly leaned against Kirk. "Yes," he whispered.

Kirk stroked Spock's hair. "Good," he murmured.

Spock turned and put his arms around Kirk's waist, burying his face against his belly. "T'hy'la..."

Kirk slid to his knees and took Spock in his arms. "Spock..."

Spock drew Kirk to him, breathing him in. "I have longed for thee."

"So have I." Kirk pressed his face to Spock's neck and kissed it.

"Jim..." Spock kissed Kirk's temple and then lips made their way to mouths and molded together.

Kirk gasped to feel Spock's lips and tongue mapping, offering, _taking_ as he did the same. He'd expected the coolness of Spock, but hadn't been prepared for the overwhelming tenderness of breathing _through_ each other, especially not in a first kiss. He felt he could drown in Spock, were it not for the certain knowledge that Spock would save him. Of all the new experiences embodied in this kiss, the one that struck him the most was the sheer mutuality of it. Never had he participated in a kiss that was so equal in nature, so thoroughly initiated and enjoyed by both parties. If this was what kissing Spock was like, then sex—

He groaned.

Spock ended the kiss and gazed at Kirk, very tenderly. "Shall we go to bed?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing."

Spock brushed his forehead against Kirk's. "We are well matched, it would seem," he murmured.

"We certainly are, if that kiss is anything to go by," said Kirk, nuzzling Spock's face.

Spock rose, drawing Kirk up with him. "I do love thee."

"As I do thee," murmured Kirk, and then speech was not possible as they claimed each other's mouths again. Pressed body to body, Kirk felt Spock trembling as heated hardness pressed need to need. Lost in the kiss, he couldn't bear to break that vital connection or to ignore the urgency swelling within him. It was Spock's hand caressing his lower back, stray fingers alighting below his waist, that made him gasp. "Bed..."

"Now..."

Kirk backed toward the bed, never breaking contact until his calves bumped up against it. Kissing Spock was intoxicating. He wound his arms around him once more, letting his fingers snake under the tunic, linger on the undershirt before pulling it gently from the waistband as he felt Spock's hand cradling the back of his head. Cool, velvet skin against his hand made his cock jump. He deepened the kiss, thrusting both hands between shirt and skin and hugging Spock impossibly close.

"Ah! Jim..." Spock drew Kirk closer, nuzzling against his neck as he fumbled with one hand at the opening of his pajamas.

"Spock..." Kirk guided his hand to the right place and gasped as the garment came undone and he felt Spock burying his face on his bare shoulder, suckling at a sensitive spot where it joined his neck. He moaned and arched into the touch, undoing the seam release on Spock's shoulder as his friend – lover – sealed himself to him. He pulled tunic away and undershirt off before reaching with trembling fingers for the trousers. His progress was impeded when Spock's hands insinuated themselves between Kirk's pajamas and his ass, squeezing and pulling him tight against hard heat. "Spock," he gasped, "let me..." He tugged at the waistband even as Spock captured his mouth again.

Spock eased his lower body away just enough to allow Kirk access to his waistband. One hand stroked up Kirk's back, the other explored the cleft below the waist as his tongue caressed Kirk's.

Kirk moaned and fumbled at the waistband, lost in sensation. _God, you're good at this!_

As if he were responding to that thought, Spock deepened the kiss and pulled Kirk against him with a surety that had seemed absent before.

At last, Spock's trousers cooperated, and Kirk eased his way between underwear and skin, feeling a slick of fluid pushing from his cock as his fingers feasted on warming, defined, forbidden muscles. He smoothed his hand down quivering thighs, easing trousers and underwear down. They had to break the kiss just as Kirk reached Spock's boots and cursed.

Spock sat quickly on the bed to remove his boots.

Kirk flushed, tempted to stare at proud flesh he'd not quite seen, but opting instead to pull his pajamas off the rest of the way. He folded the garment, staring at it as he heard a rustle on the bed. _I'm about to go to bed with a man. My best friend, my first officer, a Vulcan... What the hell am I doing? You love him, you idiot._ McCoy's voice in his head would not do anything to enhance any sort of tryst. _Make eye contact. You love him, remember?_ He looked up to find Spock lying naked on the bed, propped on one elbow and gazing at him. He let his eyes roam freely over the lean, subtly muscled body, the impressive erection, the furred chest that defied Vulcan biology, the long fingers resting tensely on hip and sheet, the soft, brown eyes full of longing and love ... and something else. He dropped the pajamas and inched his way onto the bed, unable to take his eyes off Spock. "You are beautiful," he whispered.

Spock swallowed, eyes flicking down for a moment before he cupped Kirk's cheek. "So are you," he said, thickly.

Kirk turned to kiss Spock's palm before he settled closer to him. He ran his hand gently down his lover's arm, easing him onto his back "Thou art beautiful, and I love thee," he murmured, and then he bent to kiss Spock and was lost.

Spock twined his arms around Kirk, pulling him on top and arching into him.

Kirk's breath faltered as he felt their cocks bump together. There was the tingle of fear as Spock thrust up against him, as he felt lean muscle stronger than steel gripping, pushing, writhing under him; there was the thrill of excitement and power as he ran his hand over Spock's skin and felt him quiver. And then there was the feel of raw sex and _need_ as Spock's hands curled around his buttocks and _squeezed_ and _pulled_ and he rolled them onto their sides and tangled their legs tightly for leverage and _thrust_ and Spock groaned and he ached and they hissed and hands met around cocks thrusting together and wet with arousal. And in the white-heat-white-noise of it all, as Kirk lost himself and found himself, there was Spock, looking at him in the mind-space he'd unwittingly made long ago – being with him, watching him, urging him, wanting him, needing him in that one way that he'd never thought he could meet – and Kirk fell headlong over the edge and came with a shattered cry, as Spock did the same.

As his mind crawled back to him, a voice began to thread through his consciousness. Arms held him, hands stroked him, much as he had gentled horses in his youth. He frowned. He'd had a great orgasm, certainly, probably the most intense of his life, even if it did come embarrassingly soon... He snorted, though it came out more as a snuffle and a choke. _Damn!_ And Spock was saying something...

"...all right? Jim..."

"All right? Yes! Yes, I'm ... much more than all right." _Since when does a first time frot reduce me to a blubbering idiot?_

"Thee weeps, t'hy'la?" Spock sounded as though he were trying to hide his anxiety, but he wasn't succeeding.

"No, of course not." Kirk shook his head and swiped at his eyes, blinking hard. He pulled away, a little. "Must be going through menopause, that's all." He looked at Spock, overwhelmed by the tenderness in his gaze. "Are you all right?" he asked, softly.

Spock reached to finger a lock of hair on Kirk's brow, and smiled. "I am happy."

Kirk's heart dissolved. "So am I," he managed, feeling a tear slowly outlining his own smile as he looked into Spock's eyes. "So am I."


End file.
